


Per Minute

by MissNaya



Category: Birds of Prey (And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) (2020), DCU
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Bottom Victor, Cannibalism, Cannibalistic Thoughts, Chastity Device, Feminization, Financial Domination, Guro, M/M, Master/Slave, Murder, Older Man/Younger Man, Older Victor, Phone Sex, Scarification, Sex Work, Sexism, Sexual Assault, Small Penis, Spanking, Top Roman, Torture, Violence, Watersports, Waxing, Younger Roman, Younger Top, older bottom, small penis humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 05:21:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29255142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissNaya/pseuds/MissNaya
Summary: Victor has a secret to tell, so he finds a captive audience to listen. A phone sex operator seems like the right person.
Relationships: Roman Sionis/Victor Zsasz
Comments: 7
Kudos: 59





	Per Minute

**Author's Note:**

> this is an EXTREMELY self-indulgent AU. I loooove sex worker AUs, so I just had to do this. please mind the tags, because this isn't your typical phone sex...

It’s past 3 AM when Roman gets the chat notification on FlirtLive.

_vz238: ive gota secret ot tel lyou_

Great. Another illiterate. That’s just what Roman needs right now.

He considers ignoring it and going to bed. Considers blocking the user just because he can. But a quick look at his account balance and the calendar tells him he’d better reap the 69 cents per message while he can; bills are almost due.

So he answers.

_MasqueNoir: Oh? And what would that be?_

The reply takes a few minutes to come through, long enough that Roman almost closes the tab and goes to sleep anyway. But then his laptop pings with the message sound, so he rolls his eyes and looks.

_vz238: idont know if i shuld tell u_

_MasqueNoir: Don’t waste my time. Tell me or get the fuck out._

_vz238: idont know_

_vz238: oh god ur sopret y_

_vz238: i just wantto ummmmf uck wow yoire butiful_

Ah, so it’s one of those. Roman is very used to this guy’s type by now; their “big secret” is that they wanna suck cock, or get fucked, or fuck a guy. Sometimes in panties, sometimes in chastity. Give or take a few fetishes, and you have the average submissive on the site where Roman makes his living.

It’s not a glamorous living, not after his parents kicked him out, but it keeps him on his feet. And, well.

There’s just something about being told you’re beautiful that really helps with the motivation.

_MasqueNoir: I know._

_MasqueNoir: Is that the secret, then?_

_vz238: no_

_vz238: im drun kk ing and i dont know if ishuld tell u_

Roman sighs, grabbing the martini off of his bedside table to take a sip. He’s going to need it if he’s going to have any hope of dealing with this one. It’s a good thing he’s a Dom; means he can be as rude as he wants.

_MasqueNoir: You and I both know I’m going to find out before the night’s through, so why don’t you stop being a cheap-ass and call me already? That way you don’t have to type it out._

_vz238: ummmm ummm ok_

_vz238: ur $3.99 a min tho???_

_MasqueNoir: Do you want to tell me your secret or not?_

_vz238: ok yea i want too ill umm mcall_

Roman doubts he will. The types who drunk-text on the cheap chat usually don’t. He settles back with his martini, already trying to plan on what sorts of photos to take for tomorrow’s pay-to-view set, when his phone starts to ring.

Well then. Setting his glass to the side, he answers.

“This is your Master speaking,” he says, like he answers every call. “Who the fuck are you?”

“Victor,” comes the soft-spoken response.

“Victor,” Roman repeats. “Victor, you must have _some_ secret to tell me, if you’re hitting me up this late. What is it you wanted to say?”

Victor’s silent for a moment. Roman would be more annoyed about that if he wasn’t getting paid for every minute they spend on the phone, whether either of them say anything or not. He suspects the poor bastard is psyching himself up to admit he wants to go down on a big cock or something.

Which is why he’s so surprised when Victor says, “I’ve killed 238 people.”

Roman sits up a little straighter in bed, brow knitting together. “What?”

Sounding a little more emboldened, Victor says it again.

“I’ve killed 238 people.”

Roman presses his lips into a thin line. What’s this bastard’s game? What is he after? Talking about this sort of thing is against the site’s TOS, any asshole could guess that. It’s not exactly a common kink like hypnosis or spanking.

So Victor must be trying to rile him up. Some sick fucks like to do that; call up and say, _“Oh, I want to imagine you’re my 12 year old son, baby,”_ and see how long it takes the operator to slam the phone down like some bad _Scream_ opening re-enactment.

This is a new one, though. Not inherently sexual to start off with. Victor’s gone straight to “creepy serial killer” levels, rocketing right over the usual caliber of stuff Roman is used to dealing with.

But that’s just fine. Calls aren’t monitored, so there’s no one around to listen in and kick Victor off the line; that means Roman can talk to him for as long as he’ll stay on, collecting that sweet $3.99 a minute with every fucked up thing this Victor guy admits.

 _That’s how it’s gonna be tonight, huh?_ he thinks to himself. _Bring it on, sick freak._

“I see,” Roman says slowly, trying to puzzle out how best to maximize his profits off of this weirdo. “When’d you do it? All at once?”

“No,” comes the too-soft voice on the other end of the line. “Been doin’ it for years.”

“When did you start?”

“I was nineteen,” Victor says, and there’s something wistful in his voice, beneath the slur of alcohol. “Mom and pops just died. There was this— this guy.”

“Mhm.” Roman nods, though Victor can’t see him. “What about him?”

“He was try—” Victor hiccups. “—tryin’ t’ kill me. Mugging me.”

“And so you turned it around on him?” Roman prompts.

“Mhm.” There’s a wet sound, like Victor taking another drink, before he continues. “Grabbed th’ knife. Stabbed ‘im. He… He bled so much.”

In another circumstance, Roman might believe him. It sounds like the kind of thing that might haunt someone with a weak mind. But that would only make sense if it were an isolated incident, not body number 1 out of 238.

“How did it make you feel?” Roman asks, like a fucking therapist.

Victor is silent for a long moment after that. There’s more sloshing, more gulping, and then the sound of his heavy breaths for another minute or two. Roman watches the numbers tick by with thoughts of money slowly growing smaller in his mind.

“Good,” Victor finally says.

“Good enough that you did it 237 more times,” Roman says.

“Yeah.”

“Sounds like you’ve been hard at work since then. How old are you now, Victor?”

Another hiccup. “Thirty-eight.”

“So, in nearly twenty years,” Roman says, “you’ve killed 238 people. That’s more than one person a month, every month.”

He can hear the gears turning in Victor’s addled mind, trying to work through the math, failing. “Yeah.”

Roman lets out a low whistle. “You’ve been busy. The floodgates really opened after the first one, huh?”

“Uh-huh. I really…” Victor sucks in a shaky breath. “...really like it.”

Ah, and Roman knows that tone of voice. He recognizes that intake of breath, after hearing it countless times on countless calls.

Victor’s jerking off.

Settling down deeper into the mess of pillows at the head of his bed, Roman prompts, “Do you?”

“Yeah,” Victor says, and it’s at that moment that Roman muses that Victor’s voice has a nice, deep quality to it that he likes. “Yeah, I… Is that… bad?”

There’s only one right answer: _of course it is, you sick freak._

So why doesn’t Roman say it?

Instead, he says, “We all like things that other people might consider ‘bad.’ It’s just a matter of perception.”

“E-even you?” Victor hiccups.

Roman licks his lips. “Even me.”

“You’re so pretty.” Victor’s slurred voice is like music to Roman’s ears. “Can’t believe you’re— _hic—_ talkin’ to me.”

“Yes, well,” Roman says, “it’s not every day I get to hear a story like yours. Tell me, Victor, how do you do it?”

“I, uhh, slit their throats,” Victor says. “Most of th’ time. Sets ‘em free.”

“Free?” Roman asks, raising an eyebrow. “Free from what?”

“From…” Victor groans, then burps. Roman winces. “From life. From th’ burden of… uhhh… Fuck, it’s so fake.”

“What is?”

“Everything,” Victor tells him, sounding louder all of a sudden, more insistent. “Every fuckin’ thing. Pretendin’... _hic…_ Pretendin’ we’re not just trapped here. Pretendin’ it’s all worth somethin’ in the end. Uhh…”

Roman listens. He doesn’t expect to identify with anything a drunken edgelord says, but something about that rings true. Life, everything about it, he’s always felt the same way — that it’s fake. That people hide behind masks made of lies to try and convince themselves they’re worth something.

So he sounds sincere when he says, “That’s right. Fake as fuck, isn’t it?”

On the other end of the line, Victor laughs. It’s a dopey thing, slurred by drink, but something about it endears Roman. He tries to imagine what Victor looks like; is he beaten-down? Handsome? Does he look his age? He’s probably just as ugly as every other old man Roman dominates, but for now, Roman builds up a mental image that’s a little more flattering.

“Sure fuckin’ is, boss,” Victor says, and Roman wrinkles his nose.

“It’s _Master._ ”

“Right, right,” Victor corrects. “ _Master._ Master Mask, hehe…”

Okay, time to get back on track before Roman gets sick of this one. “How do you pick them?”

“Huh?”

“The people you kill. How do you choose?”

“Uhhh… I don’t really think about it,” Victor says. “I jus’ find the one that looks th’ most lost… _Cheep cheep,_ li’l bird… Let it fly away, free…”

Okay, so if this guy is telling the truth, he’s certifiably insane. Even if he’s lying, it’s not exactly the most stable thing to lie about. Roman’s talking to a real winner either way.

Every rational instinct he has is telling him to hang up. To block this person. To stop engaging with someone who’s, at best, got a very sick sense of imagination.

Instead, Roman asks, “How do you do it? Get them alone?”

“Don’t always,” Victor tells him. “I like to do families sometimes. Let ‘em all fly away together…”

Something in the back of Roman’s mind starts to go off, an alarm, a memory. A string of news reports about entire families being targeted by a serial killer. The way they were found...

Roman licks his lips. “How did you get rid of the bodies?”

“Set ‘em up,” Victor says. “I make, uhh… I put ‘em back.”

Roman’s mouth feels dry. “Back?”

“Yeah,” Victor slurs. “Yeah, like… at home, or… in the park, or… Enjoying it, y’know? Enjoying being free…”

Roman remembers the true crime websites he’d once had a phase of liking. There was just something about learning about all the evils of the world, the real evils, that has always appealed to Roman. It’s why he has so many books about torture and war taking up space on his bookshelf.

It’s why he knows who Victor is, now.

The press call him Mr. Dollhouse. Roman thinks it’s a stupid fucking name, but apparently that’s what happens when you kill entire families and leave them posed in their homes like sick, blood-soaked Barbies. All of a sudden, that tally starts to make sense; Victor isn’t some garden-variety psychopath stalking and killing one person at a time, methodically hiding their bodies. He’s racking up numbers with every incident.

That is, of course, if he’s telling the truth.

Roman still has reason to doubt everything he’s been told. After all, his line of work deals with selling fantasies; he spins lies for customers every day, and they do the same thing for him. There’s no reason he should treat this conversation like anything but another fantasy.

And if none of it is real, he might as well have a little fun with it, right?

“I think I know you,” he says, confident as ever.

Victor splutters. “I— You— Y’do?”

“Yeah,” Roman continues. “You killed that family in the East End in Gotham two years ago. Christmas morning. Had the kids posed like they were opening presents, and you shoved the parents’ organs in the gift boxes.”

Victor is silent for another few seconds, and Roman imagines his mouth gaping, opening and closing like a fish. “Yeah. Yeah, that was me. You liked it…?”

“Oh, I _loved_ it,” Roman says, and it’s a lie, but not entirely. “I think you’re _so_ creative. Never thought I’d talk to the famous Mr. Dollhouse…”

“Zsasz.”

“What?”

“Mr. Zsasz,” Victor says. “Not Dollhouse.”

Roman decides at that moment that this must be a detailed fantasy call, because no serial killer in their right mind would give their full name to some random phone sex operator. _Victor Zsasz…_ It’s got a star quality to it, Roman will give him that. He tries to imagine the name plastered on magazines and in true crime novels, the case finally solved, cracked because of an intrepid young whore.

Yeah, right.

“Well, Mr. Zsasz,” Roman says, “why did you decide to tell little old me all this? Why tonight?”

“I just…”

Victor is silent for another long stretch of time after that. For a second, Roman thinks the call dropped, but then he hears a breath on the other side of the phone.

“I saw your pictures, and… Uhh…” Victor speaks slowly, like he’s trying to spear every word on the end of a pike before he says it. “I dunno… I just figured, it’s, uh… time.”

“Time?”

“Yeah. Time t’... let someone else know,” Victor says. “See what happens.”

“You could’ve called the cops,” Roman says. “The news. But you chose me.”

“Well, yeah,” Victor says, like his decision should be obvious. “You’re gorgeous.”

Roman doesn’t care that he might well be talking to a serial killer with a body count in the hundreds; his ego swells with the compliment. It’s one of the reasons why he likes this job so much.

“I know,” he says. “You tell a lot of gorgeous people that you’re a serial killer?”

“No,” Victor says. “Jus’ you.”

“Yeah, right,” Roman laughs. “I bet you tell that to all the pretty boys whose cocks you wanna suck.”

“Oh, god,” Victor breathes, and Roman can hear that breathless quality in his voice again, the one that no doubt means he has his hand wrapped around his dick. “No, I swear. I never even used th’ site before now…”

Roman can see on his laptop screen that that’s not a lie, at least. The account “vz238” (Victor is apparently more creative with his murders than his usernames) is only a day old.

“So you admit it,” Roman says after confirming it. “You wanna suck my cock.”

“Uh,” Victor stutters. “Uh, yeah.”

There’s something about the idea of sexually dominating a serial killer that, Roman has to admit, turns him on. Sure, it’s probably all bullshit, but if his customers can indulge in their fantasies, why can’t he indulge in his? So, relaxing in his pile of pillows, he chuckles.

“Are you looking at my pictures now?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Victor says. “Yeah, I got your profile up. God, you’re… you’re so fuckin’ pretty.”

Considering Roman obscures the top half of his face with a skull-design mask as part of his online persona, the compliment means even more. It means that, even without his whole face on display, people can tell he’s the type of person you want to submit to.

“That’s right,” he says. “So pretty that you’ll tell me all your secrets, won’t you?”

“God, yeah,” Victor groans. “Anything you fuckin’ want.”

“I wanna hear what it’s like,” Roman says, and this time, it’s his own voice that takes on a slightly breathless quality. “To kill people.”

“...You do?” Victor sounds taken aback. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” Roman says. “Tell me. What’s it like, snuffing someone out like that?”

Again, Victor is silent, but this time, Roman is patient. He waits, playing idly with the edge of his silk robe. Listens to every little noise that comes from the other end of the line, every shift of skin, every roll of the tongue in his mouth.

“It’s… nice,” Victor says after a long while. “Looking at ‘em when you do it. In their eyes? Uh… You can just… see it. See the moment when it… ends.”

Roman slowly drags the tip of his tongue between his teeth. “Does it make you feel powerful?”

“Yeah.” There’s a soft slapping sound, skin against skin, and Roman pictures Victor’s hand on his cock, beating up and down. “Nothin’ feels better.”

“Nothing?” Roman asks. “Not even sucking a pretty Dom’s cock?”

“Uhh— Uhm.” The way Victor stutters is almost cute. “I mean… I don’t… know?”

“What do you mean, you don’t know? Haven’t you ever done it before?” Roman grills him.

“I don’t really… uh… do that, Master,” Victor says, tacking the last word on at the end like he almost forgot about it. “I mean, I don’t got a girlfriend or nothin’...”

“Of course you don’t, we’re talking about sucking cock, here,” Roman says.

“Or a boyfriend,” Victor clarifies. “I don’t go out, I, uh…”

“You kill people,” Roman finishes for him.

“Yeah.”

 _Real winner,_ Roman thinks to himself with another eyeroll.

But it’s not all bad. Again, his inexperience is kind of endearing. Roman smirks.

“That’s alright,” he says, humming idly. “We can teach you. You kill someone, and then you can go down on me… Sound fun?”

“Oh, god, yeah,” Victor says, and Roman can tell from the tone of his voice that he means it. Men are obvious when something turns them on; from the way their cocks jut up like flags to the way their voices get breathless and rushed, it’s easy to tell when he’s hitting the right notes with his clients.

This serial killer, Mr. Zsasz, is a total bottom, isn’t he?

“So,” Roman hums, “you’ve never sucked a cock before. Is that right?”

“I, uh, I might’ve,” Victor says. “Back when my folks first died. Can’t ‘member… Drank a lot.”

“Seems like that hasn’t changed,” Roman quips.

“No, no, this is new,” Victor insists. “Jus’ been thinkin’ a lot lately, and uh… Yeah.”

“Alright,” Roman says, “so you may have sucked cock some 20-odd years ago. How does that benefit me right now?”

“Um.”

“It doesn’t.”

“Right, Master.”

“You know what _does_ benefit me?” Roman coos, in that teasing little phone sex voice he uses so often these days to get what he wants. “Knowing who I’m dealing with… How big is your cock?”

Victor splutters again. Roman smirks at the sound, at the power of making this grown-ass man fumble over his words like a child just learning to speak English.

“I have to, uh— Lemme get a, umm— Hold on.”

Roman raises a brow. “You don’t know?”

“No one’s ever asked,” Victor offers up, simply.

Roman shrugs. “Fair enough. Find a ruler. Oh, and Victor?”

“Yeah?”

“If it’s under 6 inches, you owe me twenty bucks for every inch it’s under.”

Victor is silent, and Roman almost thinks that that must be his limit. Small penis humiliation is a common fetish in the scene, but men are sensitive about their cocks. Not all of them are fans.

“...’Kay,” Victor says, though, and Roman grins.

“Good boy.”

It takes a few minutes for Victor to locate a ruler, which is fine by Roman, because his account balance is ticking up with every second they spend on the phone together.

And, by god, he’s actually kind of having fun with this call.

“Okay,” Victor says on an exhale, sounding like he’s collapsing back into his seat. “Okay. Got it. It’s, uh… Three and a half.”

Roman blinks. “Say again?”

“Three and a half, boss— Master.”

Roman can’t help it. He bursts out laughing.

“What?” comes Victor’s voice, gruff, defensive.

“Oh, it’s just… I suppose I get fifty dollars,” Roman says. “Better pay up.”

“Oh— Right,” Victor says, and that defensiveness has melted back into obedience. “Right. Lemme just… Um.”

There’s the sound of fumbling, some typing and clicking, and Roman drums his fingers on his laptop as he waits. Eventually, a little number 1 pings on his screen, and he clicks the notification:

_You have just received a tribute of $50.00 from vz238. $35.00 has been credited to your account._

Score.

“That’s a good boy,” Roman coos. “Three and a half, wow… I suppose it makes sense why you have all that pent-up frustration now.”

“Huh?” Victor asks, like he’s seriously never considered it before.

“Well, the average is six… You’re half that,” Roman says.

“Little more than half,” Victor grumbles.

“See? You’re annoyed by it,” Roman tells him. “Do you ever check to see how big your victims’ cocks are? Get jealous?”

“Not really…” Victor says.

Roman rolls his eyes and blows his bangs out of his face with a puff of air. “Lame. So you never do anything with the bodies? Anything, y’know… _spicy?_ ”

“Whaddya mean?”

This one’s really dense, isn’t he? That’s okay. It makes Roman feel smarter.

“I suppose it would be difficult to do without leaving behind evidence,” Roman muses. “And you’ve been good about that, haven’t you? They can never find anything conclusive at your scenes.”

“Wait, do you mean like—” Victor fumbles over his words, the drunk bastard. “—like having sex with them?”

“Duh.” Roman smirks. “I mean, it sounds like talking about this gets you excited… Doesn’t it?”

“Yeah…”

“So, do you jerk off after, at least?”

He can hear Victor licking his lips. “Sometimes…”

“Sometimes,” Roman repeats. “That’s good. What does it for you? What really gets you off?”

Victor is quiet for another moment, thinking. Roman lets him. It’s worth it, to hear his answer.

“The… the way they look at me,” he finally says. “Like I’m, uh… their god. Like I gave them exactly what they needed…”

Roman takes in a shuddering gasp, surprising even himself. Something about that, that mental image, that description, it sets off a fire in Roman. He wants to hear more. He _needs_ to hear more.

After all, in the most secret times of his life, Roman has thought about it. Thought about what it might be like to take someone’s life away from them. He thinks about it when he’s mad, when he’s indignant, when he’s bored; what would it feel like? The power of someone’s life in your hands… It must be intoxicating.

No wonder Victor’s body count is so high.

“Tell me more,” he whispers into the phone. Under his robe, he can feel something between his legs stirring.

“The noises they make, uh…” Victor swallows. “...it’s nice. It’s like… It’s almost sexual. The way they groan…”

Idly, Roman runs his free hand down his body, toying with the sash to his robe.

“Yeah? Do you like the screams?”

“...I do…”

“Do they fight you? Is it hard?”

“Sometimes,” Victor says, and his own voice has taken on a breathless quality again, those slick sounds in the background picking up. “Sometimes I tie ‘em up. Sometimes I get some drugs…”

“Do you talk to them? Or do you just end it?”

“I let ‘em know,” Victor says. “What I’m doing. Why I’m doing it.”

“You like it?” Roman asks. “That they know?”

“Yeah.” Victor sighs shakily. “They gotta know. Gotta know it’s all gonna be alright…”

“Quite the considerate one, aren’t you, Mr. Zsasz?” Roman teases. “Who knew? Even serial killers have feelings…”

“I dunno,” Victor says, sounding disoriented. “I dunno. I just want ‘em to not be confused… They always look so confused at first.”

“I can imagine,” Roman says. “Waking up somewhere, tied up, with a knife-wielding maniac in front of you… Who wouldn’t be?”

“Not a maniac,” Victor slurs. “Saner ‘n the rest of ‘em.”

Roman chews on that for a moment. Considers it.

“Yes,” he says, “I suppose you are, aren’t you?”

After all, life is one big prison, if you don’t know how to ride it out. Just endless societal niceties and games, manipulation and lies. A rat race of people going through the motions, never making an impact before they die.

He thinks he understands Victor’s thought process. Why not cut out the middle man?

“‘S right,” Victor says. “They don’t know… But they will. They all will, one day…”

“Oh, I’m sure they will,” Roman encourages. “When are you going to do it again? Who’s next on your list?”

“Would like to do you,” comes Victor’s answer, and Roman’s heart rate speeds up. “So beautiful… Ain’t fair. Ain’t fair you have to be here…”

Why? Why is it almost… flattering? Roman can’t help but picture being in this freak’s clutches, tied to some chair while he’s threatened with a knife to his throat, and his traitorous cock only throbs.

“Well, I don’t intend to die just yet,” Roman says. “I’m having too much fun. After all, I can’t dominate freaks like you from beyond the grave, now can I?”

“Freak…?” Victor asks, and for a second, Roman wonders if he’s going too far again. If he should cool it on the humiliation when he’s talking to a supposed serial killer, one who’s just expressed interest in making him number 239.

But it’s second nature to him, and if Victor saw his profile, he has to know what Roman is like. He makes no secret of his attitude on his ad; it’s what brings guys in.

So he continues.

“Well, what else am I supposed to call a three-inch psycho who’s killed 238 people?” he asks. “You’re a freak. But that’s okay. I like freaks.”

“You do?” Victor asks, and he sounds almost like a schoolgirl in front of her crush.

“I do,” Roman confirms. “It’s why I’m talking to you. And you like talking to me, don’t you?”

“Yeah…” comes Victor’s tentative reply.

“So you can’t kill me,” Roman says, like it’s the only obvious conclusion. “I’m too much fun.”

“Right,” Victor says. “Yeah, that makes sense, Master…”

“But,” Roman says, and he lowers his voice conspiratorially. “If you want to impress me, know what you can do?”

“What?” Victor asks. “Anythin’. Anythin’ for you.”

“Kill who I tell you to,” Roman says, with a grin on his face. “Then I’ll believe that you’re telling me the truth.”

“Okay,” Victor says, with absolutely no hesitation. “Who?”

Roman stalls. He hadn’t actually been expecting that answer.

It’s accessory to murder, right? If he does this and Victor actually kills the person. It’s a crime, and it implicates him. But… But there’s no way Victor is _actually_ going to do it. It’s a fantasy, that’s all it is. He sells fantasies.

And if it’s only fantasy, that means he can be a little naughty.

“...The CEO of the Janus Corporation,” he says after a long pause. “Richard Sionis. And his wife.”

It feels positively _filthy_ to say. Roman’s heart races as he thinks of the gravity of what he’s just done.

He told a serial killer to murder his own parents.

“‘Kay,” Victor says, just as quickly as before. “When d’you want me to do it? Master.”

It’s fantasy. It’s only fantasy. Which is what makes it okay for Roman to say, “As soon as possible. I want to see it in the news.”

“Richard Sigh-oh-niss,” Victor says, carefully, sounding it out. Presumably committing it to memory. “And his wife. I’ll set ‘em free for you.”

“Good boy,” Roman says. His words feel heavy in his throat; his cock is standing at full attention.

“Like it when you call me that,” Victor says.

“Then keep being a good boy,” Roman tells him. “If you do this for me, you’ll be my favorite, you know that?”

“Your favorite?” Victor slurs. “I wanna be your favorite…”

“Yes, that’s right,” Roman says. “Just one little thing for me. You can manage it, can’t you, Victor?”

“Uh-huh.” Victor sounds almost frantic in his desire to please. “Uh-huh, I’ll do it. Do it for you, Master, so fuckin’ pretty, ungh…”

Roman imagines him pumping that three-inch dick in his hand. Too small for that, probably; like most of the guys with small dicks Roman’s dealt with, he bets he jerks it between his thumb and a couple fingers.

“Anything for me,” Roman says. “You’d do anything for me. Don’t you fucking forget it.”

“I won’t,” Victor gasps. “Oh, god. Whadda you want me to do, Master? Kill anyone, do anything, _nngh…_ ”

“Well,” Roman says, and in his den of pillows, he feels comfortable, in control. “For now… I want to hear what you’re doing with that little cock of yours. You touching it for me?”

“Yeah,” Victor confirms, unsurprisingly. “Yeah, it’s so hard for you, Master, uhh— Fuck, so fuckin’ hard…”

Roman laughs. “All three and a half inches? Impressive…”

“Do you—” Victor fumbles again. “Do you wanna, um, see it?”

“If you tribute me,” Roman says, like he does every time some limp-dicked loser wants to send him a dick pic. Even if he _is_ genuinely curious this time.

“‘Kay,” Victor says, and again, there’s the sound of him doing something with his laptop and his phone. Roman waits patiently until the notification sound blips. Twenty more dollars from Victor, deposited neatly into his account.

And then a message comes through. A picture. Victor’s cock resting on his palm, all three inches, though it looks a little shorter with the bush of pubes around the base. Circumcision scar around the center. An all-around unimpressive dick.

“Oh, would you look at this…” Roman hums. “You weren’t lying. Gross, don’t you ever trim?”

“Uh, no,” Victor says. “D’you want me to?”

“I want you shaved clean,” Roman tells him. “Ass and all. If you’re going to play with me, you won’t look unsightly.”

“I don’t have a razor,” Victor says dumbly.

“Not _now,_ ” Roman says, though getting paid while Victor shaves does sound nice. “If you want to talk to me again, do it before our next call. Got it?”

“Yeah,” Victor says, still breathless. “Yeah, Master. Anything for you.”

“That’s right,” Roman purrs. “So, you’ve never sucked a cock before — maybe — and I’m guessing it’s the same when it comes to being fucked in the ass. Right?”

“Right.”

“What about fucking someone? Anyone let that useless thing near them?”

He hears Victor’s sharp intake of breath. “Like I said, couple when I was younger… But, ah… That was a long time ago.”

“You bet, you old pervert,” Roman says. “It’d be a privilege for you to get anywhere close to someone like me, but if you do what I say, I’ll allow it. Isn’t that nice of me?”

“Yeah,” Victor gasps. “Real nice, Master.”

“Tell me, Victor, do you have any toys?” Roman asks.

“Toys— Uh— Like what?” Victor stumbles over his words, and it’s obvious he’s trying his best to keep up. “Like, LEGOs or…?”

“No, you fucking idiot, not LEGOs.” Roman presses two fingers to his temple and rubs in little circles. “Like dildos. Or vibrators. A cock cage, _anything._ ”

“Oh,” Victor says. “No, nothing like that.”

“Well, you’ll need to change that,” Roman says. “If you’re going to practice taking my cock, you’ll need something my size. And trust me, I am a _lot_ bigger than you.”

“C-can I…” Victor starts, licking his lips. “Can I see it, Master…?”

“If you pay up,” Roman says. He settles deeper into his pillows.

“Oh god, yeah, anything,” Victor says. “However much you want.”

“Anything I want, hmm?” Roman says, already pulling up his phone camera and undoing his sash. “Be a patient boy, now, I have to take a picture…”

It’s a good thing Roman’s still hard. Still thrumming with excitement from the best call he’s had in ages. Possibly _ever._ He snaps a photo and uploads it to the site with practiced speed. When he attaches it to a pay-to-view message, he sets the price to $150.

“Alright,” he says into the phone. “There you go.”

A minute later, Roman has the money sitting in his account (minus the site’s stupid 30% cut), and Victor has a picture of his hard cock. He hears Victor gasp the second he sees it, followed by a low moan.

“You’re fuckin’ perfect,” Victor breathes, his hand audible on his cock. “So fuckin’ perfect.”

“I know,” Roman says. “Are you touching yourself? I don’t recall giving you permission.”

“Uh— But, I—”

“Are you arguing with me?”

“No,” Victor splutters. “No, ‘course not. Sorry, Master. I’m— I won’t touch it.”

“Good.” Roman smirks. “Right now, I just want you to look at my pictures… Look at me. Take it all in…”

“Never seen anyone so fuckin’ perfect,” Victor groans. “God, your cock…”

“Bet you want it inside you,” Roman says. “Your mouth, your ass… An old perv like you would be over the moon for that, I’m sure.”

“Want it,” Victor gasps. “Want it so bad. Master…”

“I sure as shit wouldn’t let your little thing anywhere near my ass,” Roman continues casually. “Wouldn’t be able to feel it, I’m sure. No, useless cocks like yours deserve to be locked up.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Victor says. “Need t’ get a cage. Get one for you…”

“That’s right, we’ll have that thing locked away before you know it,” Roman says. “And you’ll send me the key.”

“I’ll send you the key,” Victor repeats, in a trance of his own arousal. “Anything. Anything.”

“My good boy,” Roman coos. “My good little murderer… Tell me about your last kill. Touch yourself while you do. Slowly.”

“Oh, god,” Victor murmurs, then he raises his voice a little, though it retains a hushed quality to it. “It was this kid… This college kid. Followed him. Uh… Found him drunk outside a party.”

“Go on. What did he look like?”

“Dark hair… Green eyes,” Victor says. “Skinny boy. Easy t’ grab.”

“And where did you take him?”

“The projects, these abandoned ones downtown,” Victor tells him. “Do it a lot there. No one snooping.”

Roman still can’t believe that, of all the people to call him, it’d be a murderer. A Gotham-based one (though Mr. Dollhouse has struck up and down the East Coast). He wonders where Victor is right now. Wonders how long it might take for them to meet each other, if they decided to right now.

He shudders. Dangerous fantasy to have.

“Yeah?” he asks. “What then?”

Victor takes in a slow, shuddering breath. “Tied him up. Gagged him. He sobered up real fast.”

“Did he struggle? Did he cry?”

“They all do,” Victor says. “Mostly. When they realize what’s gonna happen.”

“How does it feel?” Roman asks. “Watching them realize it?”

“It’s…” Victor’s silent for a moment. “...it’s so good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah… Makes me hard,” Victor says.

“I bet it does.” Roman wraps a hand around his own cock, giving it a slow stroke. “It makes me hard, too.”

“Really?” Victor asks, like he didn’t just see a picture less than five minutes ago.

“Really,” Roman says. “I’ve always thought about it, you know… What it might be like to take a life.”

It’s intoxicating to admit. Roman’s never told anyone before. Never told anyone about the fantasies he has, detailed ones, of bashing someone’s head in until it hardly looks human anymore, of cutting someone open while they’re alive to feel it. Testing all the hardcore medieval torture methods he’s researched for years. Hearing the screams.

“It’s so good, Master,” Victor says. “ _S_ _o_ good.”

“I’d love to be there while you do it,” Roman says, losing himself to his fantasy, saying things he’ll probably regret later. “Watch you in action.”

“Yeah?” Victor groans. “God, I’d love that… You… uh… dressed up like that, so pretty…”

Roman knows Victor’s referring to his profile pictures, where he shows off his body in half-unbuttoned suits and leather. It’s expensive stuff to get covered in blood, but he thinks he’d look good like that, splattered with it. Gross, but good.

“Watching your every move,” Roman says. “Watching the knife run across his throat… Was he pretty?”

“Yeah, Master,” Victor says. “Real pretty-boy.”

“Ever thought about raping them before you kill them?” Roman asks, hand speeding up on his cock. “Not like it’d be much of an event, with how small you are, but…”

Victor sucks in another shaky gasp. “Thought about it. Never do.”

“Why not?”

“It’s… important,” Victor says. “Important to do it right. To free ‘em.”

“Hmm.” Roman rubs his thumb over the head of his cock. “And when they’re dead? What do you do after?”

Roman expects him to say something like “touch myself” or “pose the body.”

What he doesn’t expect is, “I make another mark.”

“What?”

“I have one for every little bird I set free,” Victor says. “On my body. I use the same knife that I used to kill them.”

Roman can’t help but gasp as he imagines it. 238 cuts on this man’s body. He must look a fucking mess.

“I want to see,” Roman says. He bites his lip. “Show me.”

Victor goes silent. Roman wonders again if he’s crossed a line, but then he hears Victor shift. A minute later, his chat box dings, and Roman looks at his laptop to open the message.

It’s a picture of a man from the neck down, shirt off. Over his torso and arms are a mess of tally marks carved into the skin. They’re thick; must have been deep, and Roman wonders if he’s ever gone to the hospital for stitches, let the doctors and nurses see all of that.

“Oh, my,” he breathes into the phone. “You did all of that to yourself?”

“Yeah,” Victor says. “Every one.”

“You like pain?”

Victor makes a soft noise, a little pleased grunt. “Yeah.”

“Oh, I’d love to carve one of those into you…” Roman practically purrs. “Watch you bleed… Make you come.”

“I’ve— I’ve never had anyone do that before,” Victor says. “Cut a tally for me.”

“You’d be stupid if you had,” Roman says, “but you can trust me. I wouldn’t tell.”

“You wouldn’t?”

“Well, why would I? And get in trouble for it?” Roman scoffs. “No… No, I’d rather keep it our little secret.”

“Yeah… Our secret, Master,” Victor says. “You ‘n’ me. _Oh,_ fuck…”

“How’s that little thing doing?” Roman asks. “Throbbing for me? Leaking?”

“Yeah…”

“Slap it.”

“Huh?”

“I _said,_ slap your little cock, you worthless moron.”

A second later, Roman hears a sharp _smack_ and a grunt of pain from Victor. He smirks.

“Good boy. Do it again.”

Victor does. And he does it again at Roman’s command, and again, and again, until he’s whimpering and panting over the phone. Roman tries to imagine that cock all flushed pink against the nest of salt-and-pepper pubes at the base.

“ _Master,_ ” Victor gasps, voice sounding rough as sandpaper. “Master. Oh, god…”

“You don’t call out to God,” Roman says. “You call out to _me._ Understand?”

“Yes, Master.” Victor sounds frantic, eager to please. “‘Course, Master.”

“Good,” Roman says. He puts his phone on speaker and sinks deeper into the pillows, on his back, both hands trailing down his body now. He doesn’t usually jerk off on calls, but this… This is different. “Now… It’s a shame you don’t have any toys, but that won’t save you. Here’s what you’re going to do. Get three fingers and stick them in that useless mouth of yours. Suck on them.”

“‘Kay,” Victor says.

Roman frowns. “It’s ‘yes, Master.’”

Victor groans deep in his throat. “ _Yes,_ Master.”

Then Roman hears his mouth working, hears the sloppy sound of Victor sucking on his own fingers. He smirks.

“Shove them down your throat. Gag.”

He hears Victor comply, and his cock throbs at the thought of being the one to make him make that noise. Wants to bury his cock deep in this sicko’s throat.

“That’s it, get them nice and wet… Now.” Roman wraps a hand around his cock. “Put them inside.”

“A-all of them?” Victor asks. “Right now?”

“Well, you like pain, don’t you?” Roman says more than he asks. “So go on. Do it. Make it hurt.”

Victor gasps shallowly, gives him a “Yes, Master” that makes Roman’s heart pound. Then he listens to Victor grunt and gasp as he shoves his fingers inside.

“Make it fast,” Roman says. “Hard.”

“Yes, Master.”

Victor’s voice catches as he speeds up, and Roman can hear the very faint _schlck-schlck-schlck_ of his fingers pumping in and out of himself. What a good boy he has under his thumb.

“Imagine…” Roman says, in that breathy voice he’s perfected by now. “...you and I, together, after a kill. I’ve just cut you open, and now… I’m fucking you.”

“Yeah,” Victor moans. “ _Yeah._ ”

“I’m bigger than those three little fingers, of course, but you can imagine the stretch,” Roman continues. “The burn. I wouldn’t go easy on you. Because you deserve it, don’t you?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Victor says, frantic as ever. “I deserve it. I deserve it.”

“Tell me why,” Roman says. “Why do you deserve to be fucked like a little bitch?”

“Because I’m disgusting,” Victor moans. “Because I’ve got a tiny cock. I’m a moron. You’re so smart, nngh…”

“That’s right, I am,” Roman says, basking in the praise. “So much smarter than you. Which is why you need me.”

“Need you,” Victor gasps. “Need you so bad.”

“Harder. Fuck yourself harder.”

Roman pumps his hand up and down his cock as he gives commands, his other hand tweaking a nipple. His robe lays splayed open around him, luxurious deep red silk.

Victor whimpers, and the noises get louder. Roman pictures himself sinking into this old pervert’s tight heat, fucking someone with blood on his hands (maybe literally). Running his hands over all those scars as he pounds into him… He shudders at just the thought.

“Master,” Victor says, quick and clipped. “I’m— I’m gonna come if I don’t stop.”

“No, you’re not,” Roman says. “Not without permission.”

“I— Oh, god— I mean, fuck— _Master,_ ” Victor keens. “Don’t— C-can’t—”

“You can, and you will,” Roman says. “Or I’m hanging up.”

“Nnngh— Okay,” Victor says, sounding so pathetic. “Okay. Okay, okay, okay.”

He’s clearly trying to center himself, to make it a little easier to stay focused.

Roman wants to ruin that for him.

“Disgusting rat,” he says. “Filthy fucking cocksucker. You belong on your knees, worshipping a real man.”

Victor practically _sobs._ Roman wants to hear that noise again.

“So big and bad, killed all those people,” he continues. “But here you are, crying like a bitch for me. How does that make you feel, huh? Tell me.”

“Worthless,” Victor says. “Like— Like garbage.”

“And how does it feel, being garbage?”

“So _good._ ”

Roman thinks of what could make this better, and a slow smirk spreads across his face.

“How badly do you want to come?” he asks. “How badly do you want _me?_ ”

“I’d do anything,” Victor says. “Anything. Just say th’ word—”

“Call me back in two minutes,” Roman says, and hangs up the phone.

It’s risky, what he’s doing now. He may have just lost Victor forever. But he wants to see if this fucker is as willing to please as he says he is.

So he sets his per-minute rate to $25, and he waits.

Right on time, Victor calls back. Immediately, his bleary voice says, “Hello? Master?”

“Good boy,” Roman says. “Now we can _really_ have some fun.”

Victor breathes a heavy sigh of relief. He doesn’t say anything about the price change, and Roman wonders if he’s too drunk to have even noticed. More money for him either way.

“Wanna have fun with you, Master,” Victor says. “Wanna be good.”

“You pathetic loser,” Roman laughs. “Have to call up a fucking phone sex line just to get someone to pay attention to that tiny cock of yours. I’d step on it if I saw you in real life. Disgusting.”

“Yes, please, step on me, Master,” Victor says. The slick sounds of him playing with himself continue through the phone.

“You’d have to lick the fucking dirt off my boots, and you’re hardly worth that,” Roman says. “Then I’d wash your filthy mouth out with soap and make you suck me off.”

“Yes,” Victor groans, “ _yes._ ”

“I’d come all over your face,” Roman continues. “Then rub it in the corpse’s blood like a dog in piss. Fuck, I bet you’d love it if I pissed all over you, wouldn’t you?”

Victor makes a noise that’s almost animalistic, whining and panting. “Yeah. Yes, Master, _fuck—_ ”

“Shut up. I’m not done.” Roman waits until Victor stills to just his breathing and the sounds of him fucking himself, then goes on. “I’d piss the blood off your face and make you drink the rest. You’d thank me for it. Then you’d take out your little wallet and pay me for the pleasure of ruining you.”

He waits a second. Victor doesn’t say anything.

What a good boy.

“Speak.”

“I want that,” Victor says immediately. “I want that so _bad,_ ungh—”

“You’d do anything for me,” Roman tells him. “Fucking gross. Tribute me for having to think of how filthy you’d get.”

“Yes, Master.”

Another few moments. Another $200. This guy must be loaded.

“Good boy,” Roman says, to condition him. He’ll be trained up like an even better slut in no time. “Did you do that with your dirty hands?”

“Uh…” Victor says. “Yeah?”

“Eww! Another tribute for that.”

$200 more. Roman laughs, giddy as he watches his balance increase. Three digits and counting.

“Now, go back to what you were doing. Fingers in. Hand on your pathetic loser cock.”

“Yes, Master. Nngh—”

“You’re going to stroke it exactly like I say,” Roman says, leisurely stroking his own cock. “Start slow. Down… and up. Down… and up. Just like that.”

“Okay,” Victor says on the tail end of a shaky breath. “Okay, Master.”

“Mm… Thumb over your useless fucking cockhead. Rub it.”

Victor groans softly into the phone.

“How does that feel?”

“Good…”

“You hardly deserve it,” Roman says. “But I’m so generous that I’m letting you have all this pleasure. Isn’t that nice of me?”

“So nice, Master,” Victor gasps.

“Keep fucking yourself with your fingers,” Roman goes on. “Rub that fucking prostate for me.”

“That… what?”

Roman blinks. “You don’t know what a fucking prostate is?”

“Like when you bow in front of someone?”

“That’s pros _trate,_ you fucking moron. Your prostate is that button up your ass that makes you feel like you’re about to come.”

“Ohhhh,” Victor says, and Roman wants to smack himself on the forehead. “Oh, yeah. Okay, I can do that, Master.”

“So he is capable of something,” Roman says. “Incredible. You’ve got more balls than brains, and you hardly have any balls to start with.”

Victor moans, and the sound goes right to Roman’s cock. His hand speeds up a little.

“Now, Victor,” he says. “I want you to pinch the tip of your cock. Nice and hard.”

Rather than speak something in answer, Victor just yelps into the phone. Good boy.

“Tug on your filthy balls,” he commands next. “Hard.”

Victor whines and whines, but still doesn’t answer.

“Are you doing it? Fucking say something, idiot.”

“Yeah,” Victor finally says. “Yes, Master. It hurts…”

“Good, it’s supposed to. Smack your cock again for being a dumbass.”

“Yes, Master,” Victor says, before a _smack_ and another yelp.

“I bet that little thing is leaking like a pussy,” Roman purrs. He doesn’t like pussy by any stretch of the imagination, but he loves putting sissy losers in their place with harshly gendered language. “Stupid oversized clit.”

“It is,” Victor tells him. “Oh, god, I’m leaking so much for you, Master…”

“Cover your fingers with it and lick it up,” Roman says.

“Yes, Master.”

He hears the slick sounds of Victor licking his fingers clean, and wonders what that mouth looks like, trying to imagine it working around his cock.

“What do you look like?” he asks suddenly. “I want to picture the face I’m going to fuck.”

“Uh.” Victor pauses, panting, a little thrown off his rhythm. “Blond. Brown eyes. Stubble. I have scars on my face.”

“From your kills?”

“Uh-huh. A few of them.”

“Stupid,” Roman scoffs. “Marking up your own face. But you’re stupid, aren’t you?”

“I am, Master,” Victor says. “So stupid.”

“Tug on your wimpy little cock. Dig your fucking fingernails into it.”

“Yes, Master,” Victor says, and again, his voice comes out strained, a gargled moan as he does what he’s told.

He sounds so good like that. Roman’s cock throbs in his hand, and he squeezes a bead of precum out of the tip.

“How close are you?”

“So close,” Victor says. “So close. Please, please, Master, can I come?”

Roman barks out a laugh. “Ha! No way, loser. Punch yourself in the dick for even asking. That’ll cure you of your insatiable desire to squirt that disgusting cum everywhere.”

This time, Victor _yells._ The weird fucker actually did it. Roman’s body thrums with arousal, and he allows himself to moan into the phone.

“Harder.”

This punch is audible through the phone. Victor wails, then whimpers, his voice muffled as he presumably rolls or doubles over in pain.

“Master, please,” Victor begs. “Please. Please tell me how stupid I am…”

“You’re a fucking moron,” Roman says, happily complying. “A braindead piece of trash who needs a firm hand to keep him in line. An old murderer who can’t even resist a little 20-something pretty-boy… Pounding yourself thinking of my big cock. Doing whatever the fuck I ask, you need someone to lead you around, don’t you? To tell you what to do.”

“Yeah,” Victor says. “Y-yeah, I do.”

“Well, that’s gonna be me,” Roman says. “Every day from now on. I expect you to keep coming back.”

“I will,” Victor says, rushed and immediate. “I will. Whenever you want, Master.”

“Good. Scratch your cock up and rub that prostate for me.”

“Yes, _yes,_ Master…”

Victor moans loudly into the phone, every little vibration going straight to Roman’s cock. He’s jerking faster now, tired of the teasing.

“Want to kill someone with you,” he admits. “Want you to show me how you do it. Want all their money once they’re dead.”

“Anything for you, anything,” Victor says, his voice strained beyond belief.

“I’ll pull their guts out one by one, and you’ll roll around in them like a pig,” Roman says. “Swallow their fucking eyes, _nngh—”_

“Do you feel good?” Victor asks, when he hears the tone of Roman’s voice. “Master? Am I doing good?”

“You’re doing great for a dumb cunt,” Roman tells him. “Want you bouncing in my lap, covered in disgusting blood. Wanna make your tight little ass bleed.”

“I’d ride you so good,” Victor moans. “Bleed for you so much.”

Roman arches into his pumping fist, letting out a low groan. He’s going to get close too, if they keep it up like this.

“Punch your cock,” he says again. “Hit it. Hit it hard.”

Victor howls in pain.

“Again.”

Louder.

“ _Again._ ”

The next cry that comes out is different than the others. Longer, more drawn-out. More like a moan than anything. It lasts for a while, and then Victor’s panting into the phone, nice and loud.

“Uh… Master…”

“Yes?”

“I just came…”

“...What?”

Victor sheepishly speaks up. “I— That made me come. I’m sorry. I didn’t think I—”

“You dumb shithead,” Roman says, sitting up a little, hand still around his cock. “You’re going to have to pay for that. Five hundred dollars, now.”

“Okay, Master,” Victor says, and he actually sounds like he’s going to cry.

It makes Roman so fucking hot.

The money hits his account, and Roman checks to see how much he’s made so far. The number makes his heart soar. Honestly, that nearly makes him come in and of itself. Financial domination has always been one of his favorite parts of the job.

“That’s better,” he says, “but you’re still in trouble. You came without permission.”

“I’m sorry,” Victor says again, but Roman doesn’t waver.

“Turn over and spank yourself,” Roman says. “Fifty times. Hard. And count them out, like this: ‘One, thank you, Master. Two, thank you, Master…’”

“Okay,” Victor says. “Yes, Master.”

He gets to it, and Roman licks his lips, cock throbbing with every hard _smack._ By the time Victor gets to fifty, he sounds like he really is crying, but he doesn’t waver, doesn’t stop.

“F-fifty,” he says. “Thank you, Master…”

“That’s better,” Roman purrs. “Now, there’s just the matter of getting me off… Oh, and you’re gonna want to lick up your cum like the good little cumdumpster you are.”

“Yes, Master,” Victor says, and begins licking again. Roman lets him do it for a while, just savoring the mental image.

“...Now,” he says after Victor stops. “Give me a picture of the bottom half of your face, your lips. I want to see what I’m going to be fucking.”

He thinks Victor will hesitate. Thinks a face pic, even half of one, might be going too far. But, like always, Victor says, “Yes, Master,” and fumbles with his phone. A minute or two later, Roman has a picture in his inbox.

Victor wasn’t lying about his stubble. It’s dark, unlike his supposedly blond hair. But those lips… _God,_ those lips.

“Your mouth was made for sucking cock,” Roman says. “Look at you. Filthy little cumslut.”

Victor moans. Roman speeds up, his hand smacking against his pelvis on every downswing, creating a cacophony of dirty noises that filter through the phone.

“Want to taste you, please,” Victor says. “Want your cum.”

“Oh, you’ll take it, alright,” Roman says. “Every last drop. If you spill one single drop of it, I’ll beat you black and blue. And you’d like it, wouldn’t you, whore?”

“ _Yeah,_ please,” Victor whines. “Master. Master, break my fuckin’ bones, nnngh…”

“I’ll do whatever the fuck I want,” Roman says. “You don’t get to make demands of me.”

“Sorry, Master. I won’t do it again, Master.”

“You damn well fucking won’t,” Roman commands. “Should crack your head onto a table for that.”

Victor moans. Roman keeps going, allowing himself to get lost in his fantasy.

“Fuck your mouth while your nose bleeds all over me. Then I’d use it as lube to fuck your ass. Push your face into a puddle of blood while I’m doing it, nngh… Spank your ass red.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Victor whines. “Please, more, Master.”

“I want to carve my initials into your back,” he says. “You have your scars. Now you need some for me.”

Even though he only came moments ago, Victor sounds like he’s going to come all over again.

“I fucking want it,” he says, “Master, please, please—”

“A permanent tie to me. Everyone would know you were mine when you took off your clothes. Scars on your back, cocklet locked up in chastity… Mine to the very core.”

Victor sobs on the tail end of a moan. Roman speeds up, closer and closer to the edge with every passing moment.

“Thank me,” he gasps. “Thank me for everything I’ve done for you.”

“Thank you, Master,” Victor says. “Thank you, Master, thank you so fucking much…”

“Ah— Just like that. Just keep talking like that…”

“Master, wanna be your cumdumpster,” Victor says. “Your little slut. Your fuckin’ playtoy.”

“You are,” Roman groans. “You already are.”

“Thank you,” Victor breathes, sounding like the most sincere person in the world. “Thank you, Master.”

“I’m close — open your mouth,” Roman says, picturing Victor on his knees in front of him. “Take my cum. _Nngh—”_

“Uh-huh,” Victor says, sounding like his mouth is already open wide.

“Oh, take it. You little fucking pussy. You fuckhole. You cocksucking whore, deserve to be stepped on, ah— _ah—_ ”

He jerks hard and fast, and his cock spurts thick ropes of cum across his stomach. He curses, long and loud, and Victor moans on the other end of the line.

Presumably still with his mouth hanging open, he doesn’t say anything, giving Roman time to come down from his high and pant, hair plastered to his face with sweat. He gives it a few minutes just to see if Victor will hang up, but he doesn’t. Patient.

“...Whew,” he says after a while. “Well, that was fun.”

“W-was it?” Victor asks, tentative.

“Oh, yes,” Roman says. “You did very well. I think I’m going to have fun with you…”

He can hear Victor smile through the phone. “Really?”

“Of course really, I wouldn’t say shit just to say it,” Roman says. “Now, you’d better call me back tomorrow. Same time. And remember to shave.”

“Yes, Master,” Victor says eagerly. Roman pictures him nodding fast. “Anything you want. Anytime you want.”

“Good. Don’t ever forget that,” Roman tells him. “Oh, and Victor, could you do one tiny thing for me?”

“Fuck yes,” Victor says, “anything.”

“When you kill those Sionises,” he says, “peel off their faces, would you?”

“Alive or dead?”

“Alive,” Roman says.

“Done.”

He smirks lazily, running his fingers through the cum on his stomach as it cools.

“Mr. Zsasz,” he says, “you and I are going to have a _wonderful_ relationship.”

**Author's Note:**

> find me [here](https://linktr.ee/herecomesnaya)


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